


I really fucking hate your hair

by MADR1D1SMO



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, FC Barcelona, M/M, Mutual Pining, Real Madrid CF, Slow Burn, spain nt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9551426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MADR1D1SMO/pseuds/MADR1D1SMO
Summary: “Of course it’s Gerard, Sergio thinks, watching him joke around with Jordi and Marc Barta inside the dressing room. The universe isn’t stupid, it has its reasons, and in this case, they’re pretty obvious. Sergio and Gerard are painfully similar. They’re both the life of the party, that one friend who pulls pranks on everyone and showers his teammates with champagne after a win. They’re both impulsive and hot-tempered; both warm, open and talkative. It makes sense why the stars would decide to put them together.But it seems that, somewhere along the way, something went horribly, terribly wrong; with them ending up at rival clubs, rival cities.”-Or, simply put, a Sergio/Gerard Soulmate AU where everybody has a random sentence tattooed somewhere on their body that their soulmate will say around them at a certain point





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is written in a rush (of emotions) and isn't really proof-read or beta'd so sorry for any mistakes and typos there might be.  
> anyway this ship is amazing and deserves more attention

Sergio’s soulmark is behind his ear, right where the hairline ends (not the most comfortable place to have a soulmark - he can’t even know what’s going on with it without using a mirror or asking somebody). It’s written in tiny cursive letters, and it took him a while to learn to distinguish the words, even after he learned how to read. They shine with a bright blue glow - sometimes it’s stronger, sometimes it’s weaker, but the glow is almost always there. Back when he was a kid, his parents were very happy to find out about it. It meant his soulmate didn’t live too far away. Maybe in Spain, or in one of the neighbouring countries - Portugal, France, Morocco, Algeria. The closer he got, the brighter they shined.

It’s actually rather nice, even pretty, if not for the words themselves (Sergio can still remember the loud laughter of his grandma when his parents told her what the soulmark said for the first time) because there, right behind his ear, were six words written in tiny cursive: _I really fucking hate your hair_.

None of his teammates ever saw it. Not because he doesn’t want them to see, not at all, if somebody asked him Sergio would tell, it isn’t exactly a secret. But soulmarks were considered something very private, so usually people didn’t ask and Sergio didn’t tell. Iker was one of the few to see it; which wasn’t surprising, they almost always shared the hotel room during team trips, so it was inevitable to happen, sooner or later.

“God, Sergio,” Iker growls, shifting around in his bed “Turn off your goddamn phone, I’m trying to get some sleep.”

Sergio frowns, confused, and turns around until he’s facing Iker. He can’t actually see him in the darkness, but he can roughly make out the silhouette “I’m not on my phone.”

“Then what in the world is that light-” Iker props himself up on one elbow, bringing his other hand to rub his eyes “Wait, what?”

Sergio blinks “What what?”

Iker lazily throws the covers off himself and stands up. He steps closer, flops down on Sergio’s bed and catches his ear between his fingers “This what.”

Sergio hisses in pain at the unexpected movement and tries to get away from the grip “Ouch, _Iker!_ ”

Iker lets go of his ear but keeps frowning “What’s that?”

Sergio rubs the spot behind his ear “What’s what- Oh.” He stops abruptly, realising what the other is talking about “It’s my soulmark.”

“Does it always glow like this?”

Sergio shrugs, and then realises that it’s the wrong gesture and shakes his head “No, it’s usually much calmer.” He explains “The closer my soulmate is, the more it glows.”

Iker nods slowly and then yawns. “Okay then.” He drawls and stands up again, returning back to his own bed.

Sergio thinks that this is the end of the conversation and starts settling back into a sleeping position, but just then a pillow smashes into his head. He sits up abruptly, glaring in Iker’s general direction “What was that about?!”

“Cover your head with it or something,” Iker mumbles, words slightly slurred from tiredness and muffled by the comforter pressed against his face “I don’t want to fall asleep playing against Albania tomorrow because your tattoos decided to have a disco.”

Sergio fails to hold back a snort. He does as he’s told, pulling both the pillow and the blanket over his head. He tries not to think about the fact that the insistent glow means his soulmate is even closer than he usually is.

 

-

 

“It’s always stronger during international break.”

Sergio looks up from his phone, staring at Iker, confused “What?”

“The glow.”

Sergio feels like he’s supposed to know what Iker is talking about, but the only thing on his mind right now is coming up with a good caption to a photo for his twitter, so he grins sheepishly and tries again “What?”

Iker rolls his eyes “I’ve been watching you mark.” He explains, sinking further into his seat “Sara’s is the same - it glows stronger the closer we are to each other.” Sergio raises his eyebrows, prompting him to continue with a nod. “And yours always grows stronger during international break. In other words, whenever we’re playing for Spain.” He stresses the last word, watching Sergio’s face with an intense gaze.

Sergio turns the new information over in his head. His eyes widen “Wait!” He returns his eyes to Iker, looking at him incredulously “So you’re saying- you’re telling me that he- that my soulmate plays for the national team too?”

Iker shrugs, looking thoughtful “I’m not saying anything, it’s just an observation. Don’t hold me to it.”

Sergio doesn’t hold him to it, but he does think about it. He doesn’t know a lot about it, simply because he hasn’t ever given it too much thought. He knows that the glow is always there, the only exceptions being when he travels abroad. He also knows that at a certain point it started becoming stronger whenever he played for Spain. He doesn’t know when exactly, though. It didn’t back during the Euros in 2008, but it already did during 2010’s World Cup, so it must’ve happened somewhere in between.

He tries not to think about it too hard. He’s never really cared for these things, so why would he suddenly start caring now?

 

-

 

Sergio narrows his eyes and stretches his neck out, trying to get a better look at Luka, who’s about to take a corner kick. Sergio’s never felt short, never had problems because of his height, but Gerard is simply _huge_ (he’s like, what, two meters?), and he keeps getting in his way, blocking the view. His back is painted red and blue, and the ugly blaugrana colors make Sergio’s eyes hurt.

“Jeez, sod off, you fucking eiffel tower.” He snarls, placing a hand on the other’s arm, trying to apply enough pressure to push him away but not enough to draw the referee’s attention.

Gerard doesn’t look at him but Sergio can see him sneer “Why, can’t see anything from down there?”

Sergio scoffs “Not my fault you were born a giraffe.” He tries to keep his lips’ movement to minimum, it won’t do them any good if the cameras catch them arguing during a match again. He’s about to make another comment concerning Gerard’s height and basketball, but Luka chooses that exact moment to finally take the kick and Sergio sprints forward and jumps as high as he can, aiming for a header. He could probably score; score and give them the lead; score and earn disapproving boos from Camp Nou and cheers from the madridistas; if not for Gerard, who jumps up at the same time as him. The ball ends up hitting Gerard’s head and flying off to the side, and Sergio’s forehead hits Gerard’s jaw instead. They both fall to the ground, rubbing at their aching body parts.

Sergio looks up in time to catch Gerard smirking at him smugly. He’s about to open his mouth and tell him that it’s too early to be looking this happy, but then Bale leans down, asking him if he’s okay, and Sergio just nods and takes the offered hand, pulling himself up. Cristiano claps him on the back, congratulating him on the attempt (“You almost had it!”). When Sergio glances back he sees Messi leaning down to help Gerard back to his feet. There’s a strange burning sensation to the skin behind his ear, but Sergio writes it off as part of the pain from the hit.

 

-

 

It’s international break again, and Del Bosque divided them into two teams to play against each other during training. Sergio is put on Xavi’s team, who insists he plays as a right-back instead of a center-back, even though _everybody_ knows Sergio hates that position. When he tells him so, though, Xavi remains unimpressed, and insists that’s only the more reason to do so, in order to improve the positions he is bad at. Sergio points out that, with all due respect, he didn’t say he’s _bad_ at it, he just _hates_ it, but Xavi isn’t having any of that, and when he complains to Iker about it the goalkeeper just waves him off.

Sergio, as usual, doesn’t limit his play to defensive only, trying to follow the ball wherever it goes, so it’s not surprising when David passes him and he finds himself only several meters away from the goal. It’s a perfect opportunity to get his revenge on Iker for siding with Xavi, so Sergio sprints forward, drawing his right foot back to put the ball in. He should’ve probably looked at what’s going on around him, though, because suddenly Gerard appears out of nowhere with a perfectly-timed slide tackle. It comes from a good angle, straight at the ball, but Sergio’s body is still in motion, his leg stretched forward, so in the end none of them actually reaches the ball, and instead they end up colliding and falling to the ground.

The legs are fine - there isn’t any harsh contact - but _of course_ Sergio manages to fall at the most uncomfortable angle possible, right on his back. He feels pain shoot up his spine - nothing too serious, but enough to make him hiss with a grimace. His hand reaches under his shirt, rubbing the skin there, trying to ease the ache. No, nothing too serious, but it fucking _hurts_. He raises his head, about to ask what the _hell_ was that, an insult already prepared on the tip of his tongue, but then his eyes land on Gerard’s face. He’s grinning sheepishly at him, and he actually looks kind of guilty.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to tackle you this hard. You alright?” He reaches his hand out, waiting for the other to take it. Sergio takes a minute to study his face (did Gerard Piqué just _apologise_ to him?). His light blue eyes are glistening with something very genuine. Suddenly, his back doesn’t hurt anymore.

When Sergio doesn’t reply, Gerard frowns, looking slightly concerned “Shit.” He mutters under his breath, turning around toward the goal “Hey, Iker! I think--”

“No, no, no!” Sergio struggles to sit up, catching Gerard’s wrist, forcing him to turn back around “I’m fine, I promise! Really!” He assures him, flashing a wide grin. Gerard raises an eyebrow, not looking very convinced “I was just, uh, thinking.”

“Thinking?” The other repeats, slowly.

“Yeah. Thinking. Thinking about…” _your stupid eyes_ “..stuff.”

Gerard stares at him for a while longer and then says “Okaaay,” stretching the vowels out longer than necessary.

Sergio catches Iker sending a questioning look his way, eyebrows furrowed worriedly, and he hurries to shake his head, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture to show that he’s alright. Iker nods slowly and turns around to yell at David to get going with the game.

Sergio takes Gerard’s hand and lets the other pull him back to his feet. Gerard bites on his lip, looking like he wants to say something. Sergio is dying to know what it is, but his mouth has plans of its own.

“A bit hard to control your tackles with this height, now, is it?” He blurts out, feeling a cheeky grin making its way up to his face.

Gerard groans, rolling his eyes “What’s your problem? You’re just jealous, aren’t you?”

Sergio snorts “Hell no.” His eyes wander over the other’s face, and he actually has to raise his head slightly to do so comfortably. It annoys him- no, not just annoys, it drives him crazy. “I’ll starts calling you Zlatan. Zlatan Piqué.”

“Watch it, Ramos.” Gerard tries to looks irritated, but doesn’t really succeed. Sergio uses the opportunity, starting to chant in a singsong tone of voice.

“Piqué and Ibrahimović sitting in a tree… Because they’re too tall to fit the chairs!”

Gerard swats at his shoulder, struggling to suppress his own laughter “It doesn’t even rhyme, you jerk.” They could probably keep exchanging insults and teasing each other like this forever, but then Iniesta interrupts them, noting that if they don’t get back to the game Iker and Xavi are probably going to explode.

 

-

 

El Clásico comes quickly, like every year, catching everybody unprepared. Sergio always tries to keep it in mind, some kind of countdown, but it never helps and at a certain point it turns out that there is only one week left until the matchday and everybody starts panicking - the fans, the coaches, the players. And yet, when it comes down to the actual match, Sergio feels oddly confident. Not even nervous, just excited.

Thirty minutes into the game Fábio tackles Gerard, who’s about to pass the ball to Messi. Gerard falls to the ground and the referee stops the game, calling a foul and waving a yellow card in Fábio’s direction. Sergio huffs, throwing his arms in the air “Oh, come the fuck on, did he even touch him?” He can feel Marcelo’s hand on his shoulder, trying to pull him away “This is bullshit.” It’s not like he’s trying to start something on purpose, he’s only expressing his frustration (he’s allowed to, isn’t he?). And still, he kind of expects to get a response - at least some kind of reaction from Gerard, so when the other doesn’t so much as bat an eye at him, just bites down on his lower lip and stands up slowly, telling Messi to take the freekick, Sergio feels… Scandalised? Indignant? Offended? He isn’t sure himself.

Five minutes later Sergio accidently bump into Gerard from behind while trying to intercept a pass from Busquets. One part of him tells him to apologise (the same part that insists that football is about _respect_ ), a quick ‘sorry’ won’t hurt him, but the other one (the same that keeps whispering _fuck them_ ) is still feeling offended at being ignored and tells him to be a jerk. So Sergio raises a hand as if to scratch his nose, covering his mouth to hide it from the cameras and whispers ‘move, you asshole’, just loud enough to make sure the other hears him.

But Gerard doesn’t reply. He doesn’t react in _any way_ , and now Sergio is actually worried. Since when does Gerard _Piqué_ act all polite and civilised around him, Sergio _Ramos_? He’s never missed a chance to show off his impressive collection of sarcastic comebacks, so why now? Sergio turns around, staring at Gerard half in surprise, half in confusion, and that’s when he notices it. The slight limp in his walk.

“Your ankle.” He blurts out, before he can stop himself. So maybe Fábio really did miscalculate after all, and hit a sensitive area. Or maybe it was just a bad landing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Gerard mutters through gritted teeth, not looking at him.

Sergio isn’t having any of that “If you’re injured you should tell the-”

“I’m _fine_ , okay?” Gerard snaps, turning around to glare at him “It’s none of your business.”

“Actually,” Sergio tries again, getting rudely interrupted after the first word.

“What are you even doing here?” Gerard fixes him with an icy stare “You’re a defender. Go back to your side of the pitch.”

_Well, okay then_ , Sergio thinks, _it’s not like I care or anything_.

 

-

 

The halftime whistle echoes through the pitch and Bernabéu erupts into applause, Madridistas and Culés alike. The players start slowly making their way to the dressing rooms, some applauding the fans in thanks before walking off the pitch.

The halftime break is pure chaos (it always is, but especially during big matches like the Clásico); the coach is desperately trying to get the players’ attention and discuss the plans for the second half (he isn’t very successful); Gareth is busy fixing his man bun in the mirror (it keeps falling apart); and Cristiano is trying to poison everybody with his horrible kale-aloe-vera-avocado-something energy drink (nobody wants it).

Suddenly Sergio realises that he left his bag with the phone and everything else in the car. He could probably wait until the end of the match, it’s not that urgent, but he will really need it to take victory pictures with everybody if (correction - when) they’re going to win, so he jumps up and tells everyone that he’ll be back in a minute.

He explains the situation to the guards quickly and they let him through. He can’t find his phone right away so he just grabs the whole bag and heads back to the building. He’s walking through the hallway, back toward the dressing rooms, when he passes by the bathrooms and catches a silhouette standing there from the corner of his eye. It’s the main bathrooms, not the ones in the locker room, so it could easily be a staff member, but something makes Sergio stop. He cautiously takes a step back and peeks in, careful not to make any noise. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise when he finds Gerard in there, leaning against the sink counter. His eyes are closed, and he seems to be thinking about something, so Sergio decides the best thing to do is to leave now before he sees him and act like it never happened.

Instead, he blurts out “What are you doing here?”

Gerard jumps up, startled, and turns around, cursing quietly under his breath when he finds Sergio standing in front of him “Fuck, you scared me. Don’t just go around stalking people, it’s creepy.”

Sergio frowns “I wasn’t _stalking_ anybody. I was just..” He trails off, feeling stubborn all of a sudden. It’s _his_ stadium they’re in after all, why would he have to explain himself? If anything, it was Gerard who owed him an explanation. “Anyway,” He straightens up to appear taller, even though it still doesn’t reach anywhere around Gerard’s height “My question still stands. What are you doing here?”

He expects Gerard to make some kind of retort, or not reply at all, but the other only makes a grimace and returns to leaning on the counter. Sergio’s eyes travel down to his ankle, eyeing it suspiciously. “You know,” He begins carefully “If it’s hurting, it’s probably better to-”

“I _know_.” Gerard snaps angrily, cutting him off mid-sentence. And then repeats, this time in a calmer tone “I know that. I know that I won’t do any good to the team by playing with an injury. It’s just-” He raises a hand, dragging it down his face and lets out a frustrated sigh “It’s not the type of knock that will turn into something serious later or affect my play. It’s hurting, but I’m not injured, you know?”

Sergio finds himself nodding along, because he knows. If you want to be a professional, sometimes you have to put up with pain, push yourself to the limit. Sergio himself always insists on playing even when his body aches, and he knows for certain that Cristiano and Iker do the same - keep playing through the pain, because the pain of knowing that your team lost and you didn’t do anything to prevent it is much worse.

“You should at least tape it up or something, though.” He offers.

Gerard grimaces “If I ask for tape everyone’s going to start asking questions and then bench me.”

Sergio nods, leaning against the doorframe. Then he suddenly remembers “Wait!” He walks over to the sinks, placing his bag on the countertop. He opens it, starting to go through the mess inside. It’s filled with jerseys, towels - oh, here it is, his phone! - a bottle of water.. “If I’m not wrong it should be somewhere in here..aha!” He pulls a roll of black athletic tape out of his bag, holding it up in the air triumphantly. “I should also have that cream against pains Marcelo gave me..” He returns to the bag, searching for the bottle.

Gerard gives him a look “Do you always go around carrying tape and anti pain creams?”

“Yeah, taking care of injured culés is my hobby.” Sergio deadpans.

Gerard snorts and Sergio motions for him to get up on the counter with his hand “Sit,” The other complies, jumping up slightly to get onto the sink counter. He reaches his hand for the tape roll but Sergio shakes his head “No. The ankle is a problematic place, hard to see anything, it’s better if I do it. And moreover, we only have like, ten minutes before the second half begins.”

Sergio sits down cross-legged on the floor, pulling his bag down with him. He unties the boot’s shoelaces quickly, pulling it off, and then goes for the stocking, pulling it down until the ankle is visible “Your kit is really ugly, by the way.” He says matter-of-factly.

Gerard makes a choked noise “ _Excuse_ me?”

“It’s really red and bright and it just makes my eyes hurt whenever I look at it. Makes me wonder if that was your plan, make us all go blind.”

Gerard scoffs “I was going to thank you, you know. But now I’m starting to think that you’re only doing all of this to get to me.”

Sergio grins “Who knows. Anyway,” He nudges the ankle carefully, drawing the attention back to the matter at hand “Where exactly does it hurt?”

“Everywhere.” And at the look Sergio sends his way he adds “Joking, joking. I don’t know how to explain it, I’m not a doctor. Somewhere in the inner side of the foot, where that round bone is. If that makes any sense.”

Sergio moves his hand to the area he described “Here?”

“Yeah, more or less.”

Sergio reaches for the bottle, squeezing some of the cream out onto his hand and starting to apply it to the ankle. Gerard manages to keep quiet only for a few seconds before speaking up again.

“Our kit is cool. The colors have a meaning behind them. Blaugrana means red and blue in Catalan. Yours, on the other hand, is boring. Plain white, really creative. Wow.”

“It’s not boring, it’s stylish. Classic.” Sergio retorts “Not my fault you have no fashion sense.”

Gerard barks out a laugh at that “No offence but you really have no place to speak about fashion sense.”

Sergio raises an eyebrow “Watch it, Barcelonista. Your leg is at my mercy right now, quite literally.” He ignores Gerard’s muttered ‘I would’ve been just as fine without your help’ and sets the bottle aside, reaching for the tape roll. “Now, this is a very important part. Don’t move your foot _at all_ , okay?”

“Got it.”

He tears a piece of tape, slowly placing it over the ankle bone, followed by another one just above it. He kind of expects Gerard to keep bickering about club kits, but the other falls silent instead. Sergio is almost done with the taping when Gerard speaks up again.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for this and everything, but.. Why are you doing this? I mean, won’t it only be good for you if I get injured?”

Sergio freezes at that. He looks up, searching Gerard’s face for some hint of sarcasm or playfulness, but there is none, he’s completely serious. Which can’t be, because sure, Sergio might sometimes be impulsive and hotheaded, or say things without thinking that end up sounding a bit mean, but _everybody_ does it, it’s normal, it doesn’t make him an asshole, does it? He’s actually a very fun and nice guy; he cares, he loves, he worries; all of his friends know it. Could it be that for some people, it isn’t as clear?

He doesn’t reply right away. He finishes applying the athletic tape and pulls the stocking back up; slides the shin pad back into its place; puts the boot back on, until it all looks just like before, nobody could ever guess any changes occurred at all.

Sergio places a hand on Gerard’s knee and let out a sigh “Listen,” he says, slowly “If your opinion of me really is so low you think I value a match more than my teammate’s health… Then I’m really sorry.” _Because it’s not like this, and I’m sorry if I made you think that it is. I’ll try to change it._

He looks up, and when he does, Gerard is staring at him with some kind of intensity in his eyes Sergio’s never seen before. He opens his mouth to say something, and Sergio doesn’t know what it is but suddenly he just _knows_ he doesn’t want to hear it, not yet, he isn’t ready; so he stands up abruptly, reaching for his phone.

“Jesus, look at the time!” He shoves the cream and the tape back into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and slaps Gerard’s bicep with his other hand “Come on big guy, we’re gonna be late if we don’t hurry.”

Gerard nods, jumping off the counter, and they both head toward the hallway. Sergio glances down at the other’s ankle, the previous limp seems to be gone now. “Better?” He asks.

The other nods in response “Yeah, it is.”

They race to the tunnel, just to see who can get there faster. Gerard does, and Sergio blames it on the heavy bag that he’s second. It’s annoying, because the other won’t stop teasing him about it until the match begins, but it’s also worth it because if Gerard managed to beat him in the race it means his ankle can’t be all that bad.

Sergio shouldn’t be feeling such relief at the thought.

 

-

 

World Cup 2014 is there in the blink of an eye and so are all the problems that always come along with it. Sergio is still high on the win of la décima, and the memories of winning the the last Euros and World Cup are still there. If they win it this year too it would simply be perfect. He knows that, realistically, it’s not very likely; a lot of things change, they aren’t the same as they were a few years ago - players left, players came; but hey, let a man dream. So yeah, Sergio _wants_ to win, he always wants to win, but he doesn’t necessarily _expect_ it.

Another thing he doesn’t expect is Gerard coming up to him after practice and asking if he wants to go for a dinner together in the evening.

“A what?”

“A dinner.” Gerard repeats impatiently “You know, when two people go to a special place where you consume food when you’re hungry.”

Sergio blinks. He doesn’t understand “What, like, a date?”

Gerard rolls his eyes, looking annoyed “No, idiot, not a date. A dinner.” He pauses,  searching for a good explanation “Like a business dinner, you know? As teammates?”

“A business dinner.” Sergio repeats.

“Yeah.”

He takes a moment to turn it over in his head. When he thinks about, they really do have things to discuss, so maybe it’s not such a bad idea. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”.

 

-

 

They go to some fancy french restaurant Xavi recommended them. And when Sergio says fancy he doesn’t exaggerate, it’s really, _really_ fancy with expensive furniture and everything golden. It reaches a whole new level of ridiculous when they go inside and see the shiny chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Sergio has to cough to mask his laughter at the grimace Gerard pulls.

Sergio has no idea what he’s supposed to do so he picks up the menu and start reading aloud.

“Jesus, it can’t really cost this much, can it? This is ridiculous. What is this thing, anyway?” He squints, trying to make something intelligible out of the unreadable cursive scribbles in front of his face. “Pot-ah-oo-feh-oo --”

“Pot-au-feu.” Gerard interrupts him “It’s pronounced pot-oh-feo.”

Sergio snorts “They could’ve just written ‘potofo’ if they really wanted me to read it.” He places the menu back down, drumming his fingers against the table. They’re both silent for a while. It’s awkward, but neither makes any real effort to change it. Finally, Sergio grows tired of it “So, how was the season?”

“Fantastic.” Gerard deadpans “We won the supercopa. You?”

Sergio grins “Oh, I’m glad you asked. We won Copa del Rey _and_ the Champions League.” He thinks he can hear Gerard mutter ‘congrats’ under his breath but with how quiet it is, it could’ve just as easily been ‘fuck off’. It’s his sign to stop, but something in Sergio makes him continue “It’s been an amazing year for us. But hey, enough of this, how about you guys? I heard you finished second in La Liga.”

Gerard shoots him a death glare “Says the guy who barely reached the third place.”

Sergio waves his hand dismissively “Oh, come on, we had basically the same amount of points. Plus,” he adds, stressing each word “We won the décima.”

“Yeah, finally. After like, fifty years. Will probably take you another fifty to reach undécima.”

Sergio scoffs “Puh-lease. It’s still better than--”

“Okay, enough.” The other cuts him off sharply, placing both hands on the table “This is exactly what I wanted to talk about.” He looks up, staring at Sergio for a few moments, collecting his thoughts, before speaking up again “Now that Puyol isn’t here anymore,” he starts slowly “The centre-back defense is left up to us. We’ll be sharing the penalty area for the next few months, maybe years. We have to get along. For the sake of the team.”

Sergio knows it, god, of course he knows, he’s been thinking about the exact same thing. That’s why he agreed to this whole idea, because they _need_ to sort this out. “So.. What are you suggesting?”

“We should get to know each other.” Gerard states simply. “Forget Madrid, forget Barça - outside of this. Things that aren’t related to our clubs.”

It sounds like such a basic things but the truth is - he is right. They don’t really know anything about each other outside of the clubs. “What kind of things?” Sergio asks, because he really can’t think of anything.

“Well, I don’t know..” Gerard looks around, as if waiting for the room to give him ideas “For example,” His eyes return to look at Sergio “What’s your favorite book?”

Sergio pauses to think, letting his eyes wander around the room. No Madrid, no Barcelona, something not related in any way to the clubs. His favorite book. He returns his gaze to Gerard “White Storm: The Story of Real Madrid, by Phil Ball.” The look on Gerard’s face is worth all the trophies in the world. Sergio can’t keep a straight face at that and he cracks up, burying his face in his arms to muffle his laughter “I’m _joking_ , I’m joking!”

Gerard rolls his eyes “I hate you so much.”

Sergio raises his head, his shoulders still shaking with laughter “You wanted to get to know me?”

“Not anymore.”

“Then I’ll tell you what,” Sergio says, ignoring his last comment “I hate this kind of places.”

Gerard leans in closer and whispers “Me too.”

Sergio smiles “Then how about this: we leave before we’re charged a million euros just for breathing in here and go grab some chinese take-out.”

The other returns his smile “Sounds like a great plan to me.”

They both grab their jackets and sneak out of the place before anybody has the time to notice. It’s dark by now, but Sergio still pulls on his hoodie and Gerard puts on a cheap tourist snapback so people wouldn’t recognise them. They end up stopping by a small vietnamese take-away; it’s fast, cheap, delicious and isn’t really against their diet. The only thing Sergio hasn’t thought about is the goddamned chopsticks.

When the tempura-covered shrimp slips out of his hold for the fourth time mere centimeters away from his mouth, Sergio throws the chopsticks into the box, crossing his arms with a frustrated huff “I can’t do this!”

Gerard - who, apparently, is some world champion of eating with chopsticks - just laughs, as much as it’s possible to do so with a mouthful of noodles and fried vegetables. “I can’t believe you can’t use chopsticks.” He mumbles, shaking his head, after swallowing most of it down.

“I can’t believe you _can_.” Sergio retorts “What, do you guys eat with chopsticks in Catalonia or something?”

The other almost chokes on the remaining noodles in his mouth “No, we _don’t_ eat with chopsticks in Catalonia.” He says with an amused smile on his lips “Leo taught me.”

Sergio turns to look at him, surprised “Do they eat with chopsticks in _Argentina_?”

Gerard rolls his eyes, but the amused look stays “No, I’m pretty sure they don’t. Leo just has a thing for Asian food.” He picks up Sergio’s chopsticks, shoving them back into his hands and scoots over until their shoulders are pressed against each other. “Look,” He begins “Take one of them and hold it like a regular pencil.”

Sergio does as he’s told and gives a nod “Okay.”

“Good. Now, take the other one and put it against your ring finger.”

Hell, Sergio isn’t even sure he knows which finger is the ring finger “Like this?”

Gerard groans “No, not like this. God, how do you even-- You know what, give it to me.” He takes one of the chopsticks from his hands and adjusts its position, placing Sergio’s thumb over both sticks “Like _this_.”

“I don’t see any difference.”

“Of course you don’t.” Gerard takes his own chopsticks again and picks up a piece of fried zucchini “Now use your middle finger to open them and the index finger to close it.”

“You sound like an audio guide.”

Gerard nudges him with his shoulder “Less talking more doing, Ramos.”

“Okay.” Sergio spreads the sticks and tries to close them around one of the tempura things he’s been unsuccessfully trying to eat earlier. But before he can so much as pick it up, one of the chopsticks slips out of his hold and falls down to the ground.

This time it’s Gerard who lets out a frustrated groan while Sergio laughs “You’re hopeless.”

“Oy, come on,” Sergio waves his hand dismissively “Forget it. I’m just gonna eat with my hands.” He reaches to grabs one of the shrimps but Gerard slaps his hand away.

“No.”

“Why?”

“It’s not hygienic.”

Sergio looks at him incredulously “Really?” He huffs, crossing his arms “Alright. I’m just going to starve then, and it will all be your fault.”

That earns him a laugh from the other “No you won’t.” Gerard declares. He picks up the shrimp and brings it up to Sergio’s lips “Here.”

Sergio wants to protest and say that he’s not a child, but that will probably give Gerard only more motives to make fun of him; and moreover, he’s quite hungry by now and the shrimp honestly looks delicious, with the crispy tempura batter all around it; so Sergio just gives in and catches it with his teeth. “Mhm, it’s good!”

“I know, right?” Gerard nods in agreement, stuffing more noodles into his mouth.

Sergio nudges him with his knee “Hey, don’t be greedy, give me some too.”

Gerard somehow manages to get a good amount of noodles onto the chopsticks without it falling down (by now Sergio is convinced it’s just magic, there is no other explanation) and holds them out for Sergio to take a bite too.

It feels strangely… nice. Hanging out with each other like this. Surprisingly effortless. Sergio often thought that if only they didn’t play for rival clubs they could probably be best friends. Well, maybe after all there is a chance for them to get along as it is.

 

-

 

Things change after that. Well, actually, it’s them who change, everything else stays the same. Iker still yells at them at training and during matches, Xavi still rolls his eyes at all the jokes Sergio makes and David Villa still spends a ridiculous amount of time in front of the mirror making his hair stand like the grass on a football pitch. In other words, everything is the same, except that Sergio and Gerard start talking more. Going out to eat together becomes a regular thing, sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with other teammates. If the others notice that they become friendlier with each other, nobody brings it up. Even though sometimes, when Sergio is chatting with Gerard about something light and unimportant during training, he can catch Iker watching them from the goal, a strangely fond look on his face. When Sergio decides to confront him about it later in the locker room, Iker simply says “I’m just glad that whatever it was between you two until now, you sorted it out.” and pulls him closer for a friendly kiss on the cheek.

They have a euro qualifier against Belarus; there are still over two years until the Euros, but the memory of the disastrous world cup is still fresh in all of them so they’re more determined than ever to get it right this time.

The match is played in Estadio Nuevo Colombino, Rec Huelva’s stadium, and it makes Sergio fidget with excitement because he can still remember playing there against Recreativo de Huelva back when he was at Sevilla. He keeps babbling non-stop throughout the bus ride, completely talking Gerard’s ears off and making him regret the decision to sit next to Sergio in the first place. At a certain point he snaps, saying that he’s willing to go as far as visit Seville with Sergio after the match if only he shuts up. He doesn’t really mean it, at first, he just wants the other to stop talking, but Sergio’s eyes light up in such an endearing way; and his smile gets so wide, that when he asks him if he’s serious, Gerard finds himself nodding stupidly. Seville is very close to Huelva, and they will have a whole day free before flying over to Vigo for a match against Germany anyway. Might as well visit the city Sergio talks about so much.

Isco and Jordi, who are sitting just behind them, overhear their conversation and immediately jump to invite themselves.

“I love trips, everybody loves trips!” Jordi exclaims enthusiastically “And I haven’t ever really been been in Seville, except for matches and stuff.”

They sink into a discussion about a lot of different things at the same time, and then Isco and Sergio start telling them about Andalusian and about local football slang.

“Cachitas are nutmegs,” explains Isco, leaning with his elbows on the back of Sergio’s seat “and in some places people say ‘furbo’ instead of ‘fútbol’.”

Jordi’s eyebrows fly up in surprise “Wait, for real?” He glances over to Sergio, who gives an affirmative nod.

Gerard snorts “You weirdos. Even in Catalan we say ‘futbol’. Portuguese, too. English is the same. Everybody says football!”

Álvaro’s head suddenly pops up from two rows over. “In Italian it’s ‘calcio’.”

Jordi rolls his eyes and Sergio points an accusing finger at him “We get it that you play for Juventus now, you traitor, no need to rub it in our faces.” He says over-dramatically, earning a loud laugh from Isco. Álvaro opens his mouth to say something back, after unsuccessfully trying to stifle his own chuckle, but Sergio cuts him off “No, no, no, I liked the conversation we were having before! Let’s talk about Seville!”

It’s easy, Gerard thinks, to forget that Sergio isn’t a madrileño. For as long as him and Gerard’s known each other, Sergio always wore white, but they didn’t know each other _always_. Gerard was born, grew up and plays in Barcelona, and he won’t have it any other way. It’s easy to forget that it isn’t the same for everybody.

“Do you ever regret transferring to Madrid?” He asks after the noise’s died down and Jordi is too busy arguing with Isco and Álvaro about ice cream flavours.

Sergio’s answer is instantaneous “Not for a milligram of a second.”

It could’ve been poetic, if not for the phrasing. Gerard bursts out laughing at the same time Sergio realises his mistake “A milligram of a second.” Gerard wheezes “I should add it to the list of things I heard Sergio Ramos say.”

Sergio groans “I meant a millisecond, you jerk.”

“A _milligram_ of a fucking _second_.”

Sergio shoots him a glare “You _know_ what I meant.”

- 

The match starts with a loud whistle and Sergio jogs over to his usual position in front of the goal. Eight minutes into the game he gets penalised for what the referee insists on calling a ‘foul’ and Gerard almost doubles over with laughter (“The game barely even started!” he lets out between breaths). Iker rolls his eyes (Sergio can’t see it but he can _feel_ it) but doesn’t say anything.

It goes well, Isco and Busquets both score early in the first half, giving them a two-goals lead. The second half is somehow calmer, and when there is only about fifteen minutes left Sergio steps back deeper into the defense, deciding to just wait the remaining time out, better save energy for the match against Germany. Gerard steps closer, saying something about Pedro’s goal earlier in the match, and Sergio nods along. He reaches up to fix his hair, wiping drops of sweat off his forehead. It makes Gerard laugh and reach a hand to Sergio’s hair, ruffling it into an even bigger mess than it already is.

“God, I really fucking hate your hair.” He says with a laugh, fingers running through the light brown strands.

Sergio freezes. Everything around him starts spinning and suddenly the spot behind his air feels burning hot, as if it is on fire.

Meanwhile, Gerard keeps chattering, oblivious to how fast Sergio’s heart is beating “I mean, it’s certainly better than it was before. I really can’t understand how it took you so much time to cut it off, you looked like a--”

Sergio’s ears decide to tune him out, focusing on his increasing heartbeat instead. There’s a beginning of a laugh bubbling up his throat.

It’s a relief when one of the Belarusians comes dribbling into their half and Sergio runs in his direction, sliding into a tackle and sending the ball out of the pitch. It’s messy, rushed and sharp, but Sergio feels nothing but refreshed. He cherishes the sensation of pain from the way his knees collided harshly with the ground, focusing on it for a few moments. It’s rough, physical and familiar. It’s something he can understand.

Somehow, he manages to get through the rest of the game without pulling off anything utterly ridiculous he would regret later. As soon as the final whistle blows he practically sprints to the dressing rooms, heading toward the bathroom. Sergio rushes to the mirror, turning his head, trying to figure out whether or not the soulmark has disappeared. He curses, once again, the ridiculous and absolutely uncomfortable location of his mark, preventing him from just checking it like a normal person.

“What are you doing?”

Sergio jumps, startled, and when he turns around his eyes meet Villa, leaning against the bathroom door. His expression radiates both curiosity and absolute indifference all together.

“Good, David. Quick, tell me,” Sergio turns so he’s facing away from him, hand coming up to brush the hair strands away “Is there something behind my left ear?”

He can see Villa’s reflection in the mirror raising an eyebrow. “Yes?” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Sergio’s breath hitches. So it has nothing to do with soulmates. Of course - it’s the most logical scenario. It was just a coincidence, and Sergio reacted like an idiot. Sergio tells himself it’s relief he’s feeling, not disappointment. But then Villa goes on “-There is skin, and hair, and more skin. Did you expect something else? An avocado?”

Sergio lets his head drop down, forehead bumping painfully against the sink counter “You fucking asshole.” He mutters under his breath.

Villa remains unimpressed “Wow, thanks.” He replies sarcastically, pulling his phone out of his pocket, and slowly walks out of the room.

Sergio stay there a while longer, trying to claim back control over his racing heart.

 

-

 

Of course it’s Gerard, Sergio thinks, watching him joke around with Jordi and Marc Barta inside the dressing room. The universe isn’t stupid, it has its reasons, and in this case, they’re pretty obvious. Sergio and Gerard are painfully similar. They’re both the life of the party, that one friend who pulls pranks on everyone and showers his teammates with champagne after a win. They’re both impulsive and hot-tempered; both warm, open and talkative. It makes sense why the stars would decide to put them together.

But it seems that, somewhere along the way, something went horribly, terribly wrong; with them ending up at rival clubs, rival cities.

Gerard notices Sergio looking and flashes a bright smile his way before throwing an arm around Marc’s shoulder and returning to stare at something Jordi is showing them on his phone.

And what is Sergio supposed to do now? What does he tell him? “Hi, it’s Sergio, you just happened to say the thing that’s been written on my skin since forever, so I guess we’re soulmates or something. But don’t worry, it’s not a big deal.”? Yeah, as if.

The thing is, Sergio reflects, that as far as he knows he hasn’t said whatever Gerard’s soulmark sentence is - if he has, he would’ve noticed - which means that Gerard doesn’t know, can’t know. And theoretically speaking, he never will, unless Sergio says it. But here comes in the tricky part: unless Sergio says what? He has no way of knowing what the soulmark says. If it was an obvious one, somewhere on Gerard’s wrist, or his forearm, he would’ve already seen it. So the only way is to ask, but that will just make things even more complicated. Sergio doesn’t want to make things complicated, they just started getting along, things just started becoming so good.

Gerard puts on a dark grey t-shirt and walks over to where Sergio is standing, his hair still wet after the shower. “You showered already?” He asks lightly.

Sergio wants to shoot back something sarcastic - ‘no, a cloud magically appeared out of nowhere and rained on me, that’s why my hair is wet’, but he holds it back. It’s stupid, he knows, but he can’t help but worry that anything that escapes his mouth could be the soulmark sentence. So instead he settles for a nod and a brief “Yeah.”

“So, Jordi said he asked Del Bosque and he said our flight is tomorrow evening, so we have the whole day free as long as we return to the hotel before eight.”

Sergio bites his lower lip “Oh- Um.. About this,” He starts carefully, trying to pick only safe words and simple phrases that he’s definitely said already. “I’m sorry, I.. can’t. There are some, uh- urgent things, that I gotta do. Sorry.” He mentally cringes at how awkward and unnatural it sounds.

Gerard’s expression changes, eyebrows furrowing and smile disappearing “Is.. Everything alright?” He asks carefully “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m fine!” Sergio exclaims, far too quickly and way too enthusiastically. “Nothing happened. Really. I just… There is something very important I have to do and I totally forgot about it so.. Yeah.” He sends the other a sheepish smile “I’m really sorry.”

Gerard studies him from head to toe with an intent gaze, not even trying to hide that he is not convinced in the slightest “Fine.” He says finally, voice suspicious “But you owe me.”

Sergio nods quickly “Yes, of course!” He gives Gerard’s shoulder a friendly slap, grabs his bag and runs out of there as soon as he can.

Later in the hotel room, Isco tells him that they ended up simply hanging around Huelva, not going to Seville in the end.

“You know,” Isco says after he finishes scolding Sergio for dumping him alone with two culés “Gerard looked kinda disappointed about you not coming.”

Sergio ignores the painful tug his heart gives at that. “Only kinda?” He asks jokingly instead.

Isco shrugs “I don’t know him all that well, but he seemed pretty upset about it.” And then, carefully, he adds “He said you were acting strangely.”

Sergio responds with a one-shoulder shrug “It’s nothing.” He says.

-

He doesn’t talk to Gerard before the match against Germany. Doesn’t sit next to him during the flight to Vigo. Or on the bus ride to the stadium. Or on the bench when they’re both subbed off in the second half. Doesn’t say anything after the last training session this year, doesn’t offer to meet up during the christmas holidays that are about to come.

It’s ironic, he think, that he’s ruining their friendship for the sake of not ruining their friendship.

It’s both a relief and a torture that the next international break is only in four months.

 

-

 

Cristiano is the only person he tells. He doesn’t mean to, it comes out naturally, the way it always does with Cris. They’re at Cristiano’s with a couple of other teammates, and Sergio is leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping orange juice from a wine glass (it’s the only drinkable thing he found at Cris’ house that isn’t kale or water).

Cristiano enters the kitchen to grab more snacks from the cupboard. He places a hand on the nape of Sergio’s neck, brushing the soft strands with his fingers in a friendly gesture and comments casually “Hmm, where did that tattoo go?”

Sergio looks up from where he was studying his reflection in the juice “What tattoo?” He asks, and then grins “I have a lot, you know.”

“The one that was behind your ear.” He pauses, studying Sergio’s figure, and then his eyes light up with some kind of realisation “It was your soulmark, wasn’t it?”

Sergio blinks “How did you know?”

Cristiano shrugs “I always thought it was just one of your tattoos, honestly. But, you know, tattoos don’t just disappear during international break. Speaking of which..” His lips transform into a smug smirk “I don’t recall you being in a relationship with anyone lately. Who is it?” He jumps onto the kitchen counter and scoots closer to Sergio. “A random girl you met in a bar? Or were you secretly seeing someone and didn’t tell us? Or!” His eyes widen and the tone of his voice takes a more playful turn “Is it somebody from the national team?”

Sergio rolls his eyes “Cris, shut up.”

“Come on, is it somebody from Spain?” Cristiano insists, elbowing his side lightly “Oh my god, it is, isn’t it?”

Sergio closes his eyes and groans “Stop,” He whines, but there is a hint of amusement to his voice.

“Who is it? Nolito? Isco? You guys have been extra friendly lately. Or is it De Gea?” The Portuguese shakes his head to himself “I always knew you had a thing for goalies.”

“ _Cris!_ ” Sergio exclaims in the most indignant tone he can master.

Meanwhile, Cristiano continues his monologue “So I’m right, you do have a thing for goalies. You--” He stops abruptly, eyes widening “That’s it!” He exclaims triumphantly, snapping his fingers “It’s Iker!” His eyes are shining, like he’s proud of himself for figuring it out “I _always_ knew you two had something going on. What about Sara, though? Did they lie about being soulmates so people won’t suspect that you’re together? God, what a brave woman, not every person would agree to do something like this..”

By the moment he finishes Sergio is laughing at the absurdness of the whole scenario, burying his face in his hands “God, no!” He looks up to see Cristiano grinning at him “It’s not Iker, I promise. Him and Sara really are soulmates. It’s not a goalie, at all.”

Cristiano pokes a finger at his chest “So it _is_ someone from the national team.”

Sergio hesitates for a second and then nods. He kind of expects Cristiano to keep interrogating him but the other falls silent. He doesn’t press for an answer but doesn’t just drop the subject, as if telling Sergio - I’m waiting for you to tell me yourself.

Sergio decides to ask before he has the time to think it through “Say..” He begins slowly “When you and Gerard played at Manchester-”

Cristiano makes a choked noise at the back of his throat and starts coughing. Sergio has to slap him hard on the back a few times to stop the cough. Cristiano shuts his eyes, blinking away tears “Sorry, I- It must be the popcorn I ate earlier.” He wheezes. He turns to look at Sergio “It’s really him? You’re not messing with me?”

Sergio feels himself getting defensive “And if it is?” He scans Cristiano with his eyes “Seriously, dude, what’s with this reaction?”

The other rubs the back of his neck, looking slightly guilty “Yeah, um, sorry.” His eyes return to look at Sergio “Don’t get me wrong, Gerard is a nice guy, I just- Don’t you guys,” He makes a vague gesture with his hand “Hate each other or something?”

“We don’t.” Sergio retors pointedly “I mean, we used to,” he corrects himself “But we don’t, not anymore. Our relationship was actually getting much better lately.”

Cristiano raises an eyebrow “Was, as in past tense?” When the other doesn’t correct him he goes on “Why, did he not.. Say, react well to the… news?” There is no response from Sergio and Cristiano just keeps staring at him until the realisation suddenly hits. His eyes soften and when he speaks up again his voice is quieter “Sergio.. Did you..not tell him?”

Sergio sighs, leaning back on his elbows. “I know I’m an idiot, but.. It felt so good, to actually hang out with each other, you know? Spend time together? Things just started improving, both on and off the pitch, I don’t want to ruin it.” He throws his arms up in the air, letting out a frustrated huff “God, Cris, I don’t even know if he’s into guys!”

Cristiano presses his lips into a thin line, watching Sergio with an expression he can’t quite read “Well,” he drawls cautiously “He is, this I can tell you for sure.”

Sergio blinks “Wait..” He narrows his eyes suspiciously and leans closer, invading the other’s personal space “How do _you_ know about it?”

“I- What, no!” Cristiano places his hand on Sergio’s shoulder to stop him from leaning even further “We didn’t- I mean, not with me.” He drops his hand to his side and furrows his eyebrows in concentration “Well, okay.. Maybe one time.”

Sergio is pretty sure his expression is hiding nothing “I can’t believe you.” He whispers, unable to keep his eyes from widening in shock.

“It was just one time though, and it wasn’t like _that_.” Cristiano hurries to put in.

“I can’t. Believe you.” Sergio repeats, this time louder. “Cris, how did that even happen?”

The other wrinkles his nose, clearly regretting having said anything in the first place “Don’t look at me like that. It was after we won the League Cup in 2006. We were all happy, we wanted to celebrate. I scored.” He grins at the memory “It was an amazing goal.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“Thanks.” Cristiano ignores the sarcasm in his voice “It was my third season at Manchester, his second.” He shrugs “I was the only one who spoke Spanish besides him. It kind of just- you know- happened.”

Sergio nods. Then opens his mouth. Then closes it and nods again. “Just tell me one thing,” He finally blurts out “Which one of you-”

“No.” Cristiano cuts him off sharply “Don’t even go there.”

“Okay.” Sergio waits for about five seconds and then tries again “But did he-”

“No!” Cristiano exclaims again, louder and more insistent “I’m not having a conversation about my sex life in England with you, Sergio Ramos.”

Sergio scoffs “Fine.” He leans back against the cupboard, arms linked behind his head. “I shared my darkest secrets with you, spilled my heart out to you. And you don’t even want to tell me who--”

“Okay, okay, I got it.” Cristiano interrupts him before the conversation has the chance to get uncomfortable.

Cristiano falls silent for a couple of moments, thinking things over in his head. Sergio doesn’t mind, he could use some time to analyse the recent events. Analyse. He doesn’t like that word - it somehow makes it sound way more complicated than it should be. It’s probably a good thing that Cristiano got him to talk about it, he figures, talking usually helps to avoid over-analysing things, which would happen, sooner or later, if Sergio didn’t talk to someone.

“Look, Sergio,” Cristiano starts carefully, snapping Sergio out of his thought process. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to pry or something. But, you know, Gerard is a great guy, he really is. You two,” he waves his hand in Sergio’s general direction “Are very similar, in a lot of ways. So if you’re asking me-”

“And if I’m not?” Sergio interrupts him with a teasing grin.

Cristiano shoots a glare his way “Let me finish.” Sergio throws his hands up into the air in surrender causing Cristiano to roll his eyes “Anyway, as I was saying - if you’re asking me, it’s stupid to give up the friendship you just created because you aren't ready ready for," he waves his hand around vaguely "Whatever the hell this is."

Sergio nods slowly and lets out a tired sigh "I know."

Cristiano watches him for a short moment and then bumps Sergio's shoulder with his "Hey, come on! You're Sergio Ramos, you'll figure it out."

Sergio can't help the way his lips curl up at that "You're right," he replies, the cocky confidence back in his voice "I will. Eventually."

 

- 

 

And he means it, he really does - Sergio Ramos doesn't just go around throwing words and promises for fun; if he's set his mind up to something, he does it, eventually. But the keyword here is exactly this: eventually. It takes effort, and effort takes time. Sergio is famous (or infamous, if you aren't a madridista) for his last-minute goals, but scoring isn't the only thing he tends to do in the last minute. He wouldn't exactly call it a philosophy, but it's certainly a habit.

So when international break returns, four whole months later, and Sergio is forced to face the problem - the problem whose calls he's been ignoring these past four months - Sergio finds himself.. Well, not ready. He kind of hopes Gerard will let it go, won't mention it; how Sergio hasn't answered any of his calls, hasn't called himself, how he's barely spoken a word to him since that game against Belarus. But Gerard doesn't drop the subject; instead, he confronts it just as bluntly as Sergio's been ignoring him.

"What's up, Ramos?" He asks angrily after he's finally managed to corner Sergio after training. Sergio flinches at the use of his last name. Gerard hasn't called him that for almost a year now, and he hates to think that they're back to that point in their relationship when they used to do so.

Sergio turns around to face him, lips pulled up in a wide, sheepish grin. "I'm great?" he offers tentatively "And you?"

Gerard is having none of that "Cut the fucking bullshit out." He fixes Sergio with a furious glare "What the fuck is your problem? Seriously, I don't understand you." His eyebrows are drawn together into a frown, not a very pleased one "Are we back to playing these stupid games with each other?" He makes a pause, but keeps speaking before Sergio has the chance to answer "You want to ignore me? Fine, I have other friends, you know! But at least warn me before or something."

Sergio lets out a grunt, avoiding the other's gaze "Stop, it's not like that.." He tries, not very successfully.

"Then what? Not like that, then like what, Sergio?" Gerard exclaims, spreading his arms to his sides "Explain to me!" He bites his lip, frown deepening "Did I do something?" He asks suddenly, and it's the first time since the start of the argument that Sergio's heard him sound uncertain. For a moment, Gerard lets his guard down and something dangerously close to hurt flashes in the light blue eyes.

Sergio can feel his heart clench painfully “God, Geri, no,” he tries again, reaching his hand forward to grab the other’s sleeve “Of course not, it’s-”

Gerard doesn’t let him finish, snatching his arm away from Sergio’s grasp “Is it because of that thing I posted on Twitter? Because I swear, if it is, then I just want you to know that it’s really fucking petty of you and I thought you could take a goddamn joke, you absolute-”

The rest of his sentence drowns in the sound of Sergio’s laugh “What?” He asks stupidly, unable to keep the grin off his face “I don’t- God, if I got offended every time you tweeted something stupid..” He laughs again, ignoring the way Gerard is eyeing him. “That’s not it, I promise. It’s not something you did, it’s.. It’s me.”

Gerard raises an eyebrow and swats at his forearm lightly, prompting him to continue. “Well?”

Sergio can’t really say it, but he knows he has to say _something_. “I..” He trails off, eyes scanning the green pitch around them before returning to look at Gerard “You know how.. There’ve been rumors lately, about Iker’s possible transfer..” He begins carefully “And, you know, I don’t usually pay attention to this kind of shit, but this time it seems pretty serious, and if Iker leaves it means there’s a very high chance I’ll end up being captain and all that jazz. So just,” He shrugs “A lot of people say I’m not, what, captain material? And, well, there really is a huge difference between being the captain and the vice-captain. Especially of a huge club like Real.” It’s not a complete lie; Sergio has been thinking about it a lot lately. It may not be the reason Gerard asked for, but Sergio can’t say it isn’t something that’s been bugging his mind for the past few months.

Gerard doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at him. He doesn’t seem angry anymore, and Sergio isn’t sure what to call the new expression on his face.

“So,” Sergio raises his hand, makes a vague gesture in the air and drops it back down “Yeah. I’ve been kinda, uh, busy with it lately.”

There is silence and then he feels a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” Sergio looks up and finds Gerard looking at him, his features softer “You’ll make a great captain.” He says it so easily, like it’s a known fact, and Sergio feels like a something very heavy was lifted off his shoulders. He didn’t even realise he needed to hear it until he did.

“Thanks,” He croaks quietly, almost shyly.

There is a ridiculously long pause, and just as Gerard opens his mouth to say something, Sergio thinks _fuck it_ and blurts out. “What does your soulmark say?”

Gerard stares at him, confused, and then blinks a few times. “What?”

“Your soulmark.” Sergio repeats, deciding to not back off “What does it say?”

Gerard stares at him some more, then blinks again. “Why… Why are you asking suddenly?” He asks, almost protectively, brows furrowed.

Sergio shrugs “No particular reason.” He says, trying to look and sound as casual as possible “I just thought it was a good ice-breaker.” he lies “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Gerard hesitates for a moment but then finally replies “It’s nothing special. Just ‘I forgot my phone at your place’.” Sergio nods, storing the words deep in his memory. I forgot my phone at your place. He can do that. He can just not say it, now that he knows what Gerard’s soulmark is. If he doesn’t say it, he can never know, can he? Maybe, Sergio thinks, one day they’ll be ready, and then he can tell him. But until then he just has to make sure to not forget his phone at Geri’s place.

“And yours?” Gerard asks suddenly “What does your soulmark say?” He gives Sergio’s shoulder a light push “Come one man, I told you mine, now you tell me yours.”

“Uh.” Sergio’s mind blanks out. _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ he thinks, how did he not think about it. Of course Gerard would ask “Um, it’s..” He drawls, trying to think quickly “It’s nothing interesting. It’s a pretty common, everyday phrase.” When Gerard doesn’t look like he’s satisfied with the answer he got, Sergio proceeds, saying the first thing that comes to his mind. “It’s ‘want some? I’m not hungry anymore.’”

“Oh.” Gerard mouths. Then he laughs. Noticing Sergio’s confused look he adds “So basically your soulmate is somebody who would share their food with you. It's just funny." Sergio just rolls along with it.

When they return to the hotel he asks Isco to switch rooms with Gerard so they can stay at the same room. Isco doesn't give him any weird looks, just shrugs, picks up his bag and says "You snort anyway, Cesc is a better roommate.

They end up playing Fifa the whole evening and Gerard won't stop pushing him, telling ridiculous jokes and pinching his sides; anything to stop him from scoring. "That's not fair!" Sergio tries to complain "It's dirty play!" but Gerard just laughs it off and declares that there is no such thing as dirty play when it comes to videogames, there's only different strategy.

They have a match against Ukraine the next day, but it's in the evening, so there's a bunch of free time before that. The match is played in Sevilla's stadium and Sergio manages to convince Gerard to go for a tour around the city before the match ("I owe you for the last time, don't I?").

Del Bosque warns them to not do anything exhausting so they can be in their best forms for the match in the evening. After a lot of bickering Sergio manages to drag Gerard to Sevilla’s aquarium (“It’s super awesome, and it’s always really dark in there so nobody is going to recognise us.”).

“That’s Ronaldo.” Gerard declares, pointing at one of the fish inside the aquarium.

Sergio blinks at him in surprise “What?”

“I’m just saying,” Gerard gestures at the aquarium glass “All these dudes look normal, just swimming around, minding their own business. And then there’s this one.” He points at the fish again “With the huge red tail, and the white dots, and the fish-hair gel. So that’s Ronaldo.”

“What?” Sergio asks again, but this time it’s accompanied by an involuntary laugh. “Then that’s Neymar.” He says, pointing at a small yellow fish with a long, pointy fin on top of its head “Because of the mohawk.”

Gerard points at a large shark swimming in the farther corner of the aquarium “Zlatan.” He says, mimicking the Swede’s accent.

Sergio has to hold onto one of the metal handrails to not double over with laughter. People around them start shooting them annoyed looks and Sergio covers his mouth with his hand, tugging the hoodie tighter around his head with his other hand. “We should probably try to be more quiet.” He whispers.

“Tell that to yourself.” Gerard shoots back, but lowers his voice as well. “Hey?”

“Yeah?”

“You hungry?”

“Always.”

“Wanna go grab something to eat?”

Sergio nods eagerly and they both start walking toward the exit.

They’re both wearing hoodies (Gerard’s idea) and sunglasses (this one is Sergio’s) so people won’t recognise them, but they still decide to not risk it by going to a normal cafe, so instead they find themselves standing in line for some fast food; the place is so crowded nobody is paying attention to them anyway. They almost get caught when Sergio gets his wallet out to pay and the girl who takes their orders recognises the tattoos on his hand. Her eyes widen in disbelief and she looks up, first at Sergio, then at Gerard. Sergio presses a finger to his lips and shakes his head - _play along_. The girl nods in understanding, winks at them, and returns to taking their order as if nothing happened. She makes them both sign the receipt and Sergio could swear he saw her shoving it into the pocket of her jeans. Later, him and Gerard argue about whether she was a Culé or a Madridista for five minutes straight.

They’re sitting on a bench in the park, Gerard slowly finishing his fries when Sergio’s phone buzzes. It’s a text from Cristiano.

**kale_eater:** _good luck against ukraine today_

“Who is it?” Gerard asks, voice muffled over the fries in his mouth.

“It’s Cris.” Sergio slides the phone open and writes a quick reply.

**sr4:** _thnx_

“What did he want?”

“Just texted to wish us luck in today’s match.” Sergio types another message.

**sr4:** _btw guess what??_

**kale_eater:** _what_

**sr4:** _i fixed it_

**kale_eater:** _you told him?_

**sr4:** _no. but i asked him what his soulmark is so now i dont have to worry about accidentally sayin it_

**kale_eater:** _…_

**kale_eater:** _sergio._

**sr4:** _i know i know u dont have to tell me_

**sr4:** _ill tell him later_

Gerard’s voice interrupts him “Sergio?”

Sergio hums in acknowledgment, not looking up from his phone “Hmm? Yeah?”

**kale_eater:** _sure, whatever_

**kale_eater:** _how did he react tho?_

“Sergio?” Gerard asks again, sounding a bit annoyed.

“What?”

**kale_eater:** _i mean. its a bit of a weird question_

**sr4:** _yeah i know_

**sr4:** _he asked me about my soulmark_

“Do you..” Gerard pauses for a moment before gesturing at the remaining fries “Want some?” He asks, almost hesitantly “I’m not hungry anymore.”

Sergio finally looks up from his phone “Hmm? Oh yeah, thanks.” He reaches his hand toward the box, taking a few and shoving them into his mouth. He notices Gerard looking at him with a strange kind of expression on his face, one he can’t quite read “What?” Sergio asks dumbly “You offered yourself.”

Gerard shakes his head slowly. “Nothing.. I just- No. Nothing.”

Sergio shrugs internally and returns to his phone, where a message from Cristiano is already waiting for him.

**kale_eater:** _and what did you say_

**sr4:** _idk man i just said the first thing that came to my mind_

**sr4:** _i dont even remember what it was anymore_

 

-

 

It happens sooner than Sergio expected. It’s a couple of months later, after another qualifier, this time against Belarus. They’re both in the bathroom of their shared hotel room; Sergio brushing his teeth in front of the mirror; Gerard is sitting on the side of the bathtub, telling him a story he’s isn’t quote following by now. Sergio almost ended up rooming with Iker instead - it wasn’t the best idea to share a room with Gerard considering it’s been barely a week since Barcelona won the treble, _again_ \- but Gerard promised to not talk about anything treble-related (okay, maybe just a bit) so in the end Sergio gave in.

“So apparently him and Leo have the same shoe size, can you imagine?”

Sergio spits the toothpaste into the sink and reaches for a glass of water “Which Leo? Messi?”

“No,” Gerard rolls his eyes “DiCaprio.”

Sergio chooses to ignore his sarcasm “Oh, I thought maybe you were talking about the Vinci guy.”

Gerard laughs loudly “It’s _Da_ Vinci, Leonardo Da Vinci.”

“I know.” Sergio clicks his tongue, studying his reflection in the mirror “You heard about it? Hasn’t scored since 1519. Too busy drawing Mona Lisas all day.”

Gerard laughs again, even louder. He shakes his head and mumbles something about Sergio being ridiculous under his breath.

Sergio reaches for the soap bar on the sink. He looks down at it, frowning slightly. It’s a bit scrapped at the edges from previous usage and has two bubbles in the middle, making it resemble an angry face. A somewhat familiar face. “Why does this soap look like Jose Mourinho?” Sergio asks, partly addressing himself, partly the soap bar.

There is a loud thud from behind him and Sergio looks around to check what it was, partly expecting to see that Gerard finally slipped and fell into that idiotic bathtub. Instead, he finds that it was Gerard’s phone, that’s slipped out of his hand. He’s about to make a comment on it when he notices the way Gerard is staring at him, eyes wide in shock, skin paler than usual.

“Geri?” Sergio asks, worried “Are you-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because suddenly Gerard scrambles up to his feet and rolls the left leg of his shorts up, revealing his inner thigh. The skin there is slightly red, and Gerard just keeps staring it, as if trying to see beyond it.

“Geri, what happened?” Sergio tries again, voice thick with concern.

“I..” Gerard looks up at Sergio, then back at his thigh “But- No.” He shakes his head “It’s.. It’s impossible.”

“ _What_ ’s impossible?” Sergio’s voice holds a hint of urgency in it. It’s like his unconscious already knows what’s going on, but his brain is still catching up “Say something, damn it.”

“I…” Gerard’s gaze meets Sergio’s again “You just said it.” He says “You said it, but it’s impossible, I already-”

“I said _what_?”

“The soulmark, Sergio!” Gerard yells in frustration, pointing at place on his inner thigh where the skin is still slightly reddened. “It’s gone! It’s gone and you-”

Sergio can feel his heart beating in his head “But..” It takes some time register the new information “But.. Didn’t you say your soulmark was… I forgot my phone or some shit…”

“Well, I lied, okay?!” The other exclaims “What did you want me to say? Yeah, hi, my soulmate is an idiot so I have ‘why does this soap look like Jose Mourinho’ tattooed on my fucking leg?”

It takes a few seconds for the meaning to sink it. Once it does, Sergio feels an uncontrollable grin take over his face “Wait.. So you’re telling me..that your soulmark is.. That _that_ ’s what it says? Are you serious?” There’s a beginning of a laugh at the back of his throat, threatening to break free at any moment. Gerard nods, and that’s when Sergio can’t hold back anymore. Just the image of a young Gerard, wondering who the hell is Jose Mourinho and why does his soulmate thinks some soap bar looks like him is enough to send him into a wave of laughter.

“I- I can’t believe it-” Sergio tries to hold onto the sink countertop, but it doesn’t really help and he slides down the wall onto the bathroom floor “You- You actually-” The laughter doesn’t let him finish the sentence, cutting him after every two words “You actually had- Mourinho’s name- On you body….your whole life!” He finally lets out between wheezes, nearly sobbing at this point. His stomach hurts from laughing but he can’t stop. Sergio can’t decide if the universe is this cruel or just has a very fucked up sense of humor.

Gerard is watching him in silence the whole time, looking like he doesn’t consider the situation funny in the slightest. “Stop laughing, you fucking jerk.” He mutters, sounding more annoyed than anything. His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion, as if some pieces are still missing and he’s trying to figure out where they went “I don’t understand one thing, though. Your soulmark. I tried it, but it didn’t work, so I thought..”

He trails off when Sergio shakes his hand “No. You didn’t.” He lets out between heavy breaths. His shoulders are still shaking from laughter but it’s calmer now “Because I didn’t tell you. I made that up.” Sergio points at the now blank space behind his ear “You won’t believe what it actually said.” The grin on his lips grows wider. When Gerard doesn’t reply he proceeds “I really fucking hate your hair.”

Gerard’s face is blank for a moment and then a hint of a smile starts tugging at his lips “Wait.. You’re serious right now?”

Sergio nods “Dead serious.”

It only takes a few seconds for Gerard to burst into a fit of laughter as well, and even less for Sergio to join him. He really hopes nobody walks into their room right now because it would make quite the scene; the both of them, sitting of the bathroom floor, laughing to tears like madmen. Iker would probably think they both got a concussion during the match.

“Wait.” Gerard sobers up suddenly after the two finally calm down. He sits up a bit straighter and turns around to face Sergio “When did it happen?”

Sergio shrugs casually “A while ago.” Then adds “During the qualifiers in November.”

Gerard pokes an accusing finger at his chest “So _that’s_ why you were ignoring me, you asshole.”

Sergio makes a mock-offended gasp “No it wasn’t!” Then, “Okay, maybe it was.”

Gerard snorts. Suddenly, something in his expression changes and he bites his lip, hesitating for a moment before asking “Why.. Why didn’t you tell me, though?” His eyes look confused and maybe, maybe even a bit hurt “Do you...not want-”

Before he can finish the sentence, Sergio claps a hand over his mouth to stop him. “No. Don’t go there.”

Gerard frowns, squirming from under his grip “I’m serious, Sergio, why did you-”

“For the same reason you had Mourinho’s name tattooed on your leg this whole time - because I’m an idiot.” He can sense that Gerard is about to retort so he switches from defense to attack “Did you and Cris really fuck?”

Gerard almost chokes on air at the question “What?” He wheezes once the shock is over.

“Did you and Cristiano Ronaldo fuck when you were at Manchester?”

Gerard watches him for a few long seconds, as if waiting for Sergio to laugh and say that it was a joke. He doesn’t. Gerard curses under his breath “God, that bastard told you, didn’t he. Who else he told?”

“Don’t worry, just me.” Sergio assures him “We were talking about, well, you, and it just kind of slipped.”

“And you were talking about me because..?”

Sergio punches his shoulder playfully “Don’t flatter yourself. We were just talking about how ugly your eyes are.”

Gerard snorts “As if.”

“They are! They look like..” Sergio trails off. _Like the sky, the sea, like forget-me-nots, like everything I love._ “They look like m&m’s.”

“Okay,” Gerard scoffs, amused “I don’t see how that’s an insult but okay.”

-

Contrary to what one might think, they don’t jump on each other straight away. It takes time. They return to the room, get into the beds and turn on the TV. There’s some kind of ridiculous telenovela, but neither of them is actually paying attention. Gerard rambles about the breakfast at the hotel, about the horrible weather in Belarus, and then he says something about the treble and Sergio hits him with a pillow and threatens to throw him out of the balcony.

 -

They don’t see each other until the next international break in September, but they text, a lot, almost every day. Gerard sends him pictures of Suárez and Messi drinking mate, Neymar wearing ridiculous hats and Iniesta looking annoyed; Sergio, in return, sends him pictures of Gareth fixing his hair, Fábio taking naps in the weirdest of places and Cristiano looking like he’s getting ready for a photoshoot.

There is a match against Macedonia in September, during which Iker rests so Sergio plays as the captain. It’s not something he hasn’t done before, nothing he isn’t used to, but it’s the first time he sees Iker since he left Madrid, so the armband feels heavier, and the way Iker smiles at him and whispers ‘good luck’ when they hug before the match hurts more than it should.

They win, even if just by one goal. They almost don’t, when one of the Macedonians suddenly dribbles into the box in the last minutes and sends the ball flying into the upper right corner of the net. None of them are expecting it, not Sergio himself, not De Gea, but then just before the ball is about to fly right into the goal Gerard manages to jump up and clear it out of the way with his head. For the first time in his life, Sergio finds himself thanking whoever decided to give Gerard that ridiculous height.

The moment the match is over Sergio grabs him by the collar of the jersey and drags him into the tunnel without any explanations. Once the door of the bathroom is closed behind them Sergio places both of his hands on the sides of Gerard’s face and surges forward. It’s pretty risky, one of the players could walk in at any second, but Sergio doesn’t really care because he _needs_. Their first kiss should’ve probably been more romantic, he thinks, maybe in a restaurant, or in bed, like normal people do. But then again, they’re both footballers, their ‘normal’ is slightly different, so maybe it’s just as it’s supposed to be after all.

“You’re sweaty, it’s gross.” Gerard mumbles against his lips, although the hands on Sergio’s waist show no intentions of leaving.

“Shut up.” Sergio whispers in return “Kisses are all gross anyway.” _And you’re the sweaty one,_ he wants to add, but then Gerard’s hand comes up to rest on the nape of his neck, pulling him closer for another kiss and Sergio simply closes his eyes and leans into the touch.

 

-

 

They’re lying in bed, both too tired for a proper conversation, but not tired enough to fall asleep just yet. Gerard has his arm behind Sergio’s head, running his fingers over the tattoos on Sergio’s arm slowly.

“Say, Geri,” Sergio speaks up suddenly, the quiet voice seeming much louder in the silence around them.

“Hmm?”

“How do you say ‘I love you’ in Catalan?”

Gerard turns his head to the side to look at Sergio “Visca el Barça.” He deadpans.

Sergio groans “Come on, be serious! I’m trying to be romantic here!”

“I’m serious!” Gerard insists “If you wanna tell me that you love me, that’s the only way I’ll accept it.”

Sergio pushes Gerard’s arm from under him and rolls over to his side, facing the wall “Then I don’t love you anymore.” He mutters.

He can hear Gerard laugh loudly behind him. It’s silent for a few more moments and then he speaks up again “T’estimo… I love you in Catalan is t’estimo.”

Sergio pushes himself up onto his elbows, facing the other “Well, now I can’t say it.” He complains “I will have to check it in google first. What if it’s some kind of secret catalan culé code.”

“A culé code?” Gerard repeats, amused “Like what?”

“Like..” Sergio pauses for a moment “An abbreviation. Of ‘ **t** he b **est i** s **m** essi li **o** nel’.” He drawls, stressing the letters that form the abbreviation “T’estimo.”

Gerard laughs, throwing his head back “That’s a good one.” He says, shaking his head “I gotta remember it.”

Sergio lowers himself back on the bed, facing Gerard “T’estimo.” He says quietly, a soft smile on his lips and in his eyes.

Gerard watches him carefully, biting on his lower lightly. “Do you.. Do you actually mean it right now? Or are you just saying it because-”

Sergio shifts closer and presses his lips to Gerard’s. “Shut up.” He mumbles, smiling against his mouth “T’estimo. Now your turn.”

Gerard chuckles into the kiss “Alright, alright.” His hand goes up, fingers tangling in Sergio’s soft hair. “Love you too.”


End file.
